Howdy Folks,
Just when you think things are getting better; feces occurs. When I fell in the bathtub I fractured the L3 vertebrae, which is why I can't control or feel my right foot quite as well as I did a short time ago. So, it's off to the neurosurgeon who spends so much time cutting that he has no listings in the phone book, as he has no time for anyone who has not been diagnosed by a fellow butcher, who makes your appointments. Then it's another time in that near death sleep, and if the Maker allows me to wake up from the dreams of Morpheus, it will be a new scar, and more re-hab. Life's a beach.
Now that my gun collection is in the Stockton PD Property Detail, rather than be left unarmed, I bought a new Ruger 50th Anniversary Blackhawk .44 Magnum. It will be a aid to the single barreled 12 gauge H&R single shot shotgun the Huns in blue missed, if my seriously demented neighbors decides to do a home invasion on my shabby gray house.
There are usually a few gunshots each night in North Stockton. On the 16th of March some of the boys to the south did a little street war, and about an hour after the shots ended, I walked barefoot onto my front porch, and some kind of projectile hit the toe next to the great toe of my right foot. A split second later something hit the top of my left foot. I have been shot at by quad NVA .51 caliber monstrosities, but I got lower and moved faster than I have since 1970, leaving blood all over the porch. Once my steel outer door was closed, I closed my solid wood inner door. Rabbit people would have crawled directly to the phone, but I went to my workbench and grabbed a long chunk of linen I use for BP patch and general cleaning use, and tried to stop the bleeding from my right foot. Laying on the bench was my modern revolver rig, a Ruger Redhawk .44 Magnum with a 5 1/2" barrel, which was out to be coated with Lexol. I didn't think much, just acted by reflex, and grabbed that belt and pistol and put it on my hips. The Redhawk was loaded with a Sierra 240 gn. HP, 22 gn of 2400. I call them "Raptor Rounds". Mary Ann called them "Hellburners", but to the day she died, she had a way with words. But, it's Elmer Keith's load that I shot first at his place in Salmon River, and other than a hard lead bullet version, and my lighter cowboy loads, are all I shoot from the big .44 Magnum. I was still bleeding through the linen, but I headed for the phone and 911. That was when the doorbell rang. A little insure of the wisdom of answering the bell, I opened the inner door to see three SPD officers, one cop chick and two males on my porch. I said something like, "I'm glad to see you folks. I was just about to call you". That was when I realized they had some different quest. They informed me that they had received a "totally reliable" telephone call, and were investigating the report of me bringing a woman into my house an hour before, followed by a very loud gunshot. They said they had probable cause to enter my home to see if there had been gunfire or anyone wounded or dead. That seems to be when they saw the Redhawk. I was asked why I was wearing a gunbelt and handgun. I related the toe cutting incident and that the gun rig was laying where I had tied on my bandage, and since someone had taken a bit off me, being armed seemed like a good idea. I told them that I believed I had the right to have a handgun in my home. They said I did, and asked if it was loaded. I said 'yes', and that an unloaded four pound handgun wasn't worth much. I offered to remove my gunbelt and reached for the buckle, and a split second later I was looking into the muzzles of three .40 caliber automatic pistols. I said I was going to release the buckle and let the gun belt drop to the floor. They told me that if I moved my hands below my shoulders, they would kill me. One of the two males had dropped back from the porch light and experience tells me he was preparing for a tactical shot. They ordered me to open the door, and I asked where was the warrant. They said that they had sufficient probable cause to enter and search my house, and that a warrant was not necessary. One officer used a cell phone and said to the others, "he's on his way." I was told that in 15 to 20 minutes a crew would cut or tear the steel door off the door frame. One officer said that until I opened the door voluntarily I would be arrested, and that if I moved my hands below my shoulder that they would kill me. I have to say there was a brief moment where I considered the odds of what would happen if I went for the Redhawk and make them back up their threats with lead, but sanity, and knowing that the whole SPD was probably on it's way, and there was no way out alive, I opened the steel door. I was disarmed and searched, then handcuffed. I told them I had a compression fracture of Lumbar vertebrae number 3, and was slated for surgery, and would appreciate it if they would double cuff me; connecting two sets of cuffs so that my arms would not be pulled as far behind me, and was told what I wanted was insignificant, and was walked into the living room and parked like a car in a chair. I asked if I was under arrest, and was told yes. I asked what the charge was, and was told it was resisting arrest, and interfering with a police investigation. I was never read my rights. More officers arrived, and one opened the closet in the hall where my Browning safe lives (it was unlocked) and said "God da*n! Look at all these guns!". There proceeded to sack and find the other two safes, and requested that I open them. I refused, and the officer running the circus called his dispatch and asked that the plasma cutter be brought to the scene. He told me that if I did not open the other safes, they would cut them open, and would not be responsible for damage to the safes or the contents. The small safe had not firearms in it, just my native American bead and quill work, but the big Champion safe had most of my handgun collection, and all of my Winchester shotgun and BP long rifle collection, and a ton of camera equipment, plus things like my tax records, vital documents, etc. So, under duress, I opened both safes. I asked to make a phone call, and was uncuffed long enough to call my sister. One young cop watched me make the call, with a SIG .40 in hand, occasionally passing the bore in line with my head. After the phone call, the duty sergeant, who one was a close friend (but no longer), told me they wanted to transport me to a St. Joseph's Hospital clinic for care of my foot, and to give the officers uninterrupted time to search my house. I agreed, but only if the cuffs were removed, as I was by now in a great deal of pain. The cuffs came off, and I was led out to a black and white, where I was re-cuffed before being put in the cage. It turned out that I was being taken to a locked ward mental facility for evaluation. It took about four hours to be interviewed by a psychologist, who told me that what I had been through was terrible, and that I was taking it very well. He then called the SPD and told them I was a man who had collected firearms from age 12, and was no threat to myself or anyone else, and that the call they had responded to was probably bogus; an act of revenge for some perceived wrong, or simply bullshit, and that he was release me. In the mean time the gang in the blue uniforms had turned my house upside down, given it a good shake, and could not find any evidence of a recent gunshot, that none of my firearms appeared to have been fired in quite some time. But, because of a law that went into effect on Jan 1, they had to confiscate all 79 of my firearms to the SPD evidence room. I would have to get a full background check, and $146.00 in fees to have my background and the origin of my firearms put in effect. The results are due in late May. When we got back to my home, the house was dark and both front door were unlocked, and the house was dark. The house looked like a teenage gang had snuck in and had a kegger, minus the spray paint on the walls. The good news is that I have a local lawyer who does civil rights cases, and support from the NRA General Council. But, neither want to take any action until I get my guns back. I have filed all the appropriate paperwork with the Department of Justice, and the end of May is an optimistic return date, as criminal background investigations of perps and their guns take precedence, as do the sales through dealers during the 10 day waiting period. But, not is all dark. I have a 12 ga. 3 inch chambered H&R single shot shotgun with a 20" barrel that was at my Mom's house, so I can sleep with something better than a framing hammer at my bedside. I also have a side by side 12 ga Lefever Nitro Special that was at the best local getting a new butt stock that I can pick up tomorrow. The fact is that with my total knee replacement in my left leg, tendonitis in my ankles, a new broken vertebrae, a 12 year old Girl Scout could take me out; just kick or hit the left knee, and I will go down, and the kid with the cookies can kick me to death. I am at the point where I am getting a powered wheel chair soon (very soon, I hope). I have been the prisoner of a very broken body for quits some time. I shop at stores that have electric carts, and at home it is chair, toilet, and bed. If the cops thought that having a gun collection made me a threat, the might have taken the fact that I can hardly walk into consideration of whether I am a threat to others. Heck, I bought an old shopping cart at a garage sale so that when I go to the grocery store, I can put the bags in the cart, roll it up the ramp in the garage, then rest a bit before putting the food stuff away.
That night on April 16th, one of the cops asked me what I was planning to do with all those guns. I replied that it was a collection my folks had helped me start when I was 12, and I had Hunted and participated in almost every kind of shooting sport you could name; He asked if I was going to "do a Columbine". I offered him a wager: find one instance of me harming anyone, in any way, even when threatened with lethal force since I quit the SPD, and I'd give him a C note for each year he had been on the force. He has not called up to claim the wager.
That's the sad facts folks. New York, New Jersey, D.C., and Chicago are worse than California, But, after this episode I can say with authority: I love my Country, but I am afraid of the Government, and now the bastard cops in my home town.
Now for another perspective: If, when I was on SPD, I had been called to a site of a possible homicide, and the door was opened by a bleeding man with a gun on his belt, I would have called a Supervisor and asked for a warrant. Doing what they did under the thin shield of probable cause is ridiculous in the extreme. If the subject was bleeding, I would have called for the medics. I would not have threatened to kill a man offering to undo a buckle and drop his gin a belt at his feet. The coercion and duress they practiced to get into my home, and into my safes is simply criminal. For me, I could have taken the "cold dead hands" position, but I kind of enjoy living another day, and after being a sworn officer, I find it almost impossible to considering fighting other police officers. But, I think if I had been faced with the same situation again, I'd end up dead, but the SPD officers would have good reason to not walk away clean. It probably will never will happen again. But if it did, before my family put me in the ground next to my wife, my response would change some minds among these hyper-aggresive officers about violating the civil rights to own firearms, but also the 4th amendment laws concerning legal search and seizure, as well as Miranda and Escobedo, or leaving an inventory of what evidence was taken, and property was seized.
Deputy Beauregard Hooligan
SASS 5674 Life, NRA Life
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